by Alex English
‘It’s working!’ Echo said, easing it back and forth. Yes! Something was shifting. ‘A little more—’
With a snap, the pin sprang out of the keyhole, fell on to the floor and shed its emerald, which went skittering across the stone.
‘Oh no!’ Echo chased after the emerald and the damaged pin and looked at them in dismay. ‘I’ve broken it.’
Gilbert, who was fading back to his ordinary golden shade, scuttled back up to her shoulder and gently butted her cheek with his snout.
‘What if I can’t fix it?' said Echo, close to tears. She turned it over in her hands and saw with relief that the setting was still in one piece.
Gilbert suddenly sniffed the air, ran back down Echo’s leg and over to the door where he peered at the crack beneath it.
‘What . . . what are you doing?’ Echo wiped her eyes on her sleeve and carefully wrapped the pin and the loose emerald in their velvet before tucking them back into her pocket. She squatted to take a closer look at the base of the door. A cool breeze came through the gap, which was almost as wide as two of her fingers. She stared at Gilbert and a thought came to her. ‘Can you fit under?’ she whispered.
The little lizard eyed the gap, seeming to size it up, then he squeezed his head under the door, flattened out his body and disappeared.
Echo blinked. It had worked! ‘Hey, what can you see?’ She jumped up and tried to peer through the keyhole. ‘Gilbert!’ She tapped on the door, then pressed her ear to the wood. Claws scrabbled on the other side. What in all Lockfort was he doing? She didn’t have time to find out because there was a click and she suddenly fell forward on to her knees as the door swung open.
‘Oh, Gilbert, you are brilliant!’ Echo recovered herself, scooped the little lizard up and planted a kiss on his scaly snout. Gilbert rolled one eye and turned a very pale pink before jumping on to her shoulder and hiding himself in her hair.
Echo got to her feet and stepped out on to the roof, the cool wind blowing her curls loose and inflating her skirts like a balloon. She scraped her hair out of her eyes, leaned over the battlements and looked out across the city. As always, Lockfort’s ringed streets of dingy grey roofs spread out before her. She looked round at the rooftop and shook her head. ‘Maybe Martha was right. Maybe it was a dream.’
Gilbert nudged her ear and scuttled down her arm, hopping from foot to foot in excitement.
‘What is it?’ She turned to follow his gaze and gasped. Tucked almost out of sight behind one of the old guard posts was a shape covered in a mound of turquoise silk that was weighed down with stones. As she watched, the fabric billowed and flapped as if trying to escape.
The airship! So she was right! They were hiding it.
Echo raced over, removed a stone and released a corner of the fabric. The bright silk snapped and rippled in the breeze. The colour of an ocean, she thought. An ocean fringed by starpalms and teeming with puzzle fish. An ocean of adventure. A wave of excitement ran through her.
She pulled back the deflated balloon silk and found the airship huddled beneath. Up close, Echo could see that, while it was similar in size to the royal coach, its construction was completely different. Instead of polished wood, the airship was made of hammered copper plates fixed together with rivets. It had a large window of thick greenish glass at the front and smaller circular portholes dotted round the sides. Towards the front was a plate inscribed Hummerbird. To one side a metal ladder led up to the roof.
Excitement fizzed in Echo’s stomach. ‘Shall we look inside?’ she said, putting one foot on the ladder.
Gilbert jumped on to the ladder and started to climb with his sticky toes. Suddenly he froze and his scales blanched to white.
‘What is it?’
Gilbert scampered back to her, his crest raised in a way that Echo knew to mean, Danger!
Echo turned as footsteps and voices came from the turret staircase. Fear shot through her. She grabbed Gilbert and shrank back behind the airship, where she peered out from behind the silk. Two guards, whose names she didn’t know, appeared through the turret doorway.
‘Someone’s moved one of these stones,’ came a voice.
‘Why didn’t you lock the turret door?’ came another.
‘Swear I did. Should we tell His Majesty?’
‘Not unless you fancy a spell in the dungeons. Let’s check no one’s been inside, and make sure you lock the door next time you come up.’
Echo heard the dull ring of feet on the ladder rungs. One of them was getting inside! She slid back further behind the airship, praying they wouldn’t decide to readjust its silk covering.
The guard landed with a thud and Echo heard slow footsteps circling the cabin. Her heart thumped in her ears as the other guard’s footsteps got closer to where she was hiding.
Please don’t find me. Echo crossed her fingers, every muscle in her body tensed.
Closer still. Then the footsteps stopped. The guard was right beside her, so close she could see the toes of his big black boots beneath the balloon silk. Echo held her breath, dreading the moment she’d be hauled out by one ear by a furious guard and sent to the king for a new punishment. What would he do to her this time? Lock her in her room for a week? She swallowed. ‘No sign of anyone in here!’ came a yell from inside the airship. She heard the first guard groan as he heaved himself out of the hatch and the sound of feet clanging back down the metal ladder. There was a pause, and the boots near her clumped away.
‘Perhaps the wind just blew the rock off,’ came the first voice.
‘Perhaps.’ The other guard didn’t sound convinced. ‘But what about the open door?’
‘Suppose I could’ve forgotten.’
‘You’ll forget your head next!’
Their voices grew quieter as the guards’ footsteps faded away.
Echo sagged against the wall. Had she got away with it? She waited as long as she dared before unfolding herself and creeping out from her hiding place.
As the castle gong rang nine, she eased the turret door open and raced back down the spiral staircase, Gilbert tucked in her pocket and thoughts spinning through her head. The airship was being hidden, and Professor Daggerwing was too. But what did it all mean? She felt a sudden flare of anger at the injustice of it. The poor professor, shut away without his fantastic ship. All for being an outsider!
‘I’m going to help him,’ she whispered to Gilbert. She was the only one who would after all. But, to do that, she would have to go to the dungeons. Echo might have explored the furthest reaches of the castle, but even she had never dared go there before. She had to find a way in. And for that she’d need help from the last person she wanted to ask – Prince Horace.
CHAPTER FOUR
Horace was the only other child in the castle that Echo was allowed to mix with, the rest being servants or kitchen boys. Like Echo, he was motherless since the queen had died five years ago and, while she often despaired at his disappointingly cowardly disposition, he did come in useful for some things. He was the most bookish of bookworms; when it came to dungeons and punishments and the more gruesome aspects of the castle’s inner workings, Echo knew he was an expert.
She ran up the stairs, only pausing to poke her tongue out at a particularly ugly marble bust of King Alfons looming in an alcove, and pushed open Horace’s bedchamber door without knocking. She found him attempting to scale the side of his wardrobe. As the door burst open, he leaped down and scrambled into bed, his thick blond fringe falling over his eyes. He shoved a small book under his pillow. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said, his face relaxing as he saw Echo.
‘How’s the ankle?’
‘Terrible.’ He scowled.
Echo perched on the end of the bed, scooping Gilbert out of her pocket and placing him beside her. ‘Looked all right just then.’
Horace eyed Gilbert warily. ‘Don’t let him bite me.’
‘I’ve told you a million times! He doesn’t bite,’ said Echo, with a small smile. ‘Not unless I tell him to.�
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Gilbert blinked innocently as Horace shrank back against his pillows.
Echo nodded towards the wardrobe. ‘What were you doing up there anyway?’
‘Getting this,’ he said, waving the copy of Spotter’s Guide to Lockfort Butterflies that they’d found in the library. ‘I had to hide it or they’d take it away again. I told Father we didn’t actually find a book.’
Anger flared in Echo’s stomach again, but she bit her lip.
‘He says butterflies aren’t princely and I’m only to read about weapons,’ he went on, with a grimace. ‘You won’t tell, will you?’
‘Like you didn’t tell on me?’
Horace turned scarlet. ‘I was going to get into trouble.’
‘So you got me in trouble instead.’
‘You’re used to it!’
Echo resisted the urge to take out her shooter and fire a pea at him. She had to stay focused. ‘I need to know something.’
‘What?’
She thought quickly. She definitely couldn’t trust Horace to keep a secret. ‘It’s for history lessons,’ she lied. ‘I’m learning about the castle, as you’d know if you weren’t up here, pretending to be injured.’
‘Lessons? Since when did you worry about lessons?’ Horace slumped back on his pillows again. ‘Anyway, it’s your fault I’m here.’
‘You shouldn’t have panicked!’
‘You shouldn’t have told me there were rats.’
Echo bit back a smile at the memory. ‘I thought you’d like to know.’
‘Anyway, what is it that you want?’ he said, flushing. ‘Something deathly boring, I suppose?’
‘I want to know about the dungeons,’ said Echo.
‘Well, I don’t think you’ll get sent there for twisting a prince’s ankle. Unfortunately.’
‘Ha ha.’ Echo looked pointedly at the butterfly book. ‘You owe me, remember.’
Prince Horace frowned and studied the golden embellishments on his bedspread. ‘They’re beneath the castle. Father locks people up there if they say bad things about him.’
‘I know that. But what would they do to you if you were down there?’
‘What would they do to you?’ Horace’s eyes sparkled. ‘They’d probably strap you into a squishing machine and squidge you up until you squealed. Or chop off your toes with a rusty teaspoon. Or scoop out your eyeballs! They’d—’
Echo silenced Horace with a disbelieving look. ‘You’re making this up,’ she said. ‘They can’t do any of that.’
‘They might.’
‘You’ve never actually been there, have you?’
Horace shrugged. ‘Father got his dungeon plan out once during one of his dreary meetings. I saw it over his shoulder. There’s a room marked interrogation. They probably do it there.’
A dungeon plan? Now this was interesting. Echo’s mind whirled. ‘Could you get hold of the plan? I . . .’ She steadied herself. She couldn’t tell Horace about the professor. ‘I need to borrow it.’
Horace shook his head. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Father would never let us borrow his plan.’
‘You don’t need to ask him.’
‘He’d be furious though, if I got caught.’
‘So don’t get caught!’
‘Why would I risk that for you?’ Horace scowled at her.
‘Because otherwise I’m giving Miss Brittle this.’ Echo lunged forward and snatched the butterfly book from Horace’s bedcover.
‘Hey!’ Horace opened his mouth to argue. ‘You can’t—’
‘Lady Echo!’ Miss Brittle’s shrill voice rang up the turret staircase. ‘Your lessons started three minutes ago!’
Echo silenced Horace with her most threatening look. ‘Coming!’ she yelled, shoving Gilbert into one pocket and the book into the other before sliding off the end of the bed.
‘The plan,’ she said to Horace. ‘Bring it to me after lessons.’
Horace didn’t get a chance to reply because Echo was already through the door and pelting down the spiral stairs.
‘Four minutes!’ came Miss Brittle’s voice.
Echo clattered round the last bend and almost knocked over her governess, who was standing, thin-lipped and stern, at the bottom of the staircase.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Brittle, I was—’
‘To the schoolroom, immediately.’ Miss Brittle stormed off down the hall, her long black skirts swishing. ‘And I do hope that creature isn’t with you.’
Echo jogged along after her and Gilbert gave a defiant wiggle in her pocket. ‘Of course not, Miss Brittle—’
‘Ladies do not have lizards,’ snapped the governess. ‘If I see him, I will have him put into the royal soup.’
Echo patted her pocket reassuringly and stuck out her tongue at Miss Brittle’s bony back as she followed her to the schoolroom. Just a few lessons to get through, and with the king’s dungeon plan she’d be on her way to finding the professor. His arrival had certainly spiced up castle life, Echo thought with a smile. Now she just had to help him.
In the schoolroom, Echo found her place in her book and felt her spirits drop at the thought of yet another dull lesson with Miss Brittle. Her venture into the depths of the dungeons seemed a lifetime away.
Miss Brittle settled herself at her little ebony desk. ‘Today we will be learning all about the layout of the city streets and how to navigate them, where the farms are and the boundaries of the city walls. Please get your parchment and I will dictate.’
Echo took a new scroll and slumped at her desk. What was the point? She wouldn’t ever get to use any of these tedious facts.
‘Is there a problem, Lady Echo?’ Miss Brittle gave her an icy stare.
‘Well, I just don’t see why I need to know the layout of the streets when I’m never allowed outside.’
‘What is the point of going outside when you have everything you need in here?’ Miss Brittle snapped. ‘Let us start.’
Echo hunched over and dipped her quill in her pot of black ink. A thought occurred to her. The professor and his map! She glanced up at Miss Brittle, who was studying her papers. ‘And will I be learning about places outside the walls too?’ she said casually.
Miss Brittle didn’t look up. ‘The Barren? There’s not a great deal to know. Ever since the Great War, it has been bare, lifeless and forbidden.’
The Great War. The professor had said something about that. ‘When was the Great War, Miss Brittle?’
‘One hundred and eleven years ago,’ said Miss Brittle. ‘That is when the city walls were first built, to keep our enemies out.’
So there were other people out there! Echo leaned forward, eager to know more.
‘You seem unusually interested in my lessons all of a sudden.’ Miss Brittle gave Echo a long look before continuing. ‘And, after our enemies were all defeated, there was nothing left but the Barren.’
‘What about beyond the Barren?’
‘Beyond the Barren?’ Miss Brittle’s head jerked up. ‘What do you mean, child? Have you learned nothing in my lessons?’
‘No, I mean, yes, of course, Miss Brittle. But what if you, I mean we, were wrong?’
Miss Brittle’s nostrils flared. ‘Wrong?’
‘I mean.’ Echo swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I mean, what if there was something beyond. Another city or . . . or—’
‘Another city!’ Miss Brittle folded her arms and regarded Echo with a cold eye. ‘Remind me. What happened to Beatrix Skitterbrook?’
‘Beatrix . . .’ Echo’s mind was blank.
‘Beatrix Skitterbrook!’ Miss Brittle rapped her ruler on Echo’s book. ‘The Woman Who Thought the World Went On.’
‘Oh!’ Echo found the page and scanned it. ‘She walked across the Barren for three days and three nights and disappeared into the mist.’
‘And?’
‘And . . . was never seen again.’
‘And why was she never seen again?’
‘Because she fell over the edge of the world,
Miss Brittle.’ ‘Indeed, and that is why, to protect the people of Lockfort,
King Tybalt, the good King Alfons’s grandfather, had the city gates locked, never to be opened again. People kept being curious and falling to their deaths. And it doesn’t do to be curious,’ said Miss Brittle, with a fixed glare at Echo.
‘No, Miss Brittle.’ Echo thought for a moment. ‘But doesn’t the prophecy say that one day the gates will open?’
Miss Brittle’s nostrils flared again and she shook her head in irritation. ‘Listen carefully at the Gate-opening Ceremony and you will understand that the prophecy is impossible to fulfil. Now, take your quill and I will dictate. The city of Lockfort has an advanced system of streets that requires no maps to navigate . . .’
Echo barely had time to think for the rest of the lesson, she was so busy scribing Miss Brittle’s pronouncements; but, whenever there was a pause, her thoughts came back to the same thing. Could the professor’s map be real? Had he really come from Beyond? It was the most interesting thing that had happened in a long time. In fact, the only interesting thing, unless you counted the time Miss Brittle had rearranged the desks and allowed Echo to sit by the window and Horace by the door. The very idea that there were other cities out there was almost too thrilling to be true. Echo desperately wanted the professor to be right. She didn’t fit in Lockfort and neither did he. She simply had to get into the dungeons and help him.
Once she’d escaped from Miss Brittle, sat through a long, tedious luncheon with Marchioness Beauregard and suffered an hour of history with Martha, Echo went to find Horace, who was now reluctantly out of bed and back to lessons. Of course, Horace didn’t have to learn anything as dull as needlework. Instead, he had fencing with a wiry, silver-haired man called Alfred. Echo loitered outside the courtyard, with Gilbert draped round her neck, watching Horace slash with his wooden sword as Alfred nimbly sidestepped out of the way. How she wished she could join in! Although she suddenly wondered why Horace had to learn to fight at all when he was never allowed outside the castle either. And, according to Miss Brittle, Lockfort had no enemies left to fight. Unless the professor’s map was real, of course.